


1985

by ZapLovely



Category: Penn & Teller RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Closeted Character, Coming Out, Feelings Realization, Hate Crimes, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, Longing, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partners to Lovers, Past Violence, Secrets, Self-Worth Issues, Small Reference To The AIDS Crisis, alternating pov, so much longing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26873341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZapLovely/pseuds/ZapLovely
Summary: It was 1985.Teller felt that maybe things were just meant to be difficult for him.
Relationships: Penn Jillette/Teller (Magician)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 15





	1. Bruised Fruit

**Author's Note:**

> I hate myself so much for writing this
> 
> Not 100% sure how it'll end, but I am actively working on it. And I know that I write in third person in a loose way; sometimes the grammar won't match the rules of it. I'm sorry about that.
> 
> Also none if this happened; this is a work of fiction.
> 
> Thank you for reading this, though!!!

It was 1985. Penn's hair was puffed up in the front and back like a rich woman's poodle. He'll say that he resents that comparison cause he isn't the biggest fan of dogs. Specifically their undying loyal nature. "I don't need that cloying clinginess from an animal, it's kinda creepy, honestly." He cringes while also trying to clean his round glasses on his starchy tee shirt.

And Teller thinks about this. "Well, what's creepy about it?" He asks, not knowing why there was a pit growing in his abdomen.

"It's the eyes, for me. They're wicked big. They follow you around the room like you're forgetting something." He then tches from his cross-legged position on the bed. "They love too easy. Must suck to be a dog."

Teller stares out of their hotel room from his chair near the window, into the sheets of rain. He can deftly make out a streetlamp, anchored near the street. A bus bench glitters beneath it.

He wonders if Penn feels the same way about humans who love too quickly. The ones who hang around bars even though they don't drink, just for the chance to meet some eyes that see right through them.

A deep bruise on Teller's side throbs slightly, and the pit gets harder.

Suddenly a frustrated sigh comes from the room, pulling Teller's gaze from the window. "Could you clean these for me, man?" Penn holds his glasses out. "Your shirt looks like it has the right fabric for it, and I don't trust these sheets." Their metal rim glitters honestly. Like a bench in the rain.

It was 1985. And Teller will say yes to anything Penn Jillette asks him to do. So he reaches past their distance and plucks the glasses from his partners hand. He hears a thanks from Penn, but the smaller man barely processes it. It's a little thing, really. Cleaning someone's glasses.

But why do Teller's hands shake when doing so? Why does he take the extra care to pick off the miniscule dots that don't seem to budge against his shirt like the streaks did? He even rubs along the metal as well, buffing it out. Teller likes to think that he'd do these small things for everyone, and he actually probably would.

But his hands...they'd be still. That'd be the difference.

Before he starts going over them for the third time, Teller finally tears them away from his shirt. Silently, always silently, he stretches forward and places them on the edge of the bed. Penn grins, grabbing them and smudging the metal. "You're too meticulous, bud, but thank you."

"Well," Teller pushes himself back into his chair, "One of us has to be."

\---

It was 1985. Teller clamps his nose shut in the dead of night, trying to ignore how slick the blood is. When his hand moves slightly, something crunches deep within the tissue. The sidewalk beneath him never seems to end, and every step sends tendrils of pain through his body. Maybe he'll still be walking when the sun comes up, or maybe he'll find his way off a bridge and hope he doesn't see the light.

Probably not, though. He had shows to do and tricks to pull off. People relied on him.

He runs his tongue around his mouth, and finds that none of his teeth are loose. A bitter grin shows up.

Sometimes the men he tries to sleep with get violent. It was as simple as that. They'll bare their teeth right at the last moment and fasten their claws into his skin. Pull as hard as they can. Teller doesn't fight back. Their disgust for him and themselves does most of the fighting. He never feels like adding onto it.

This isn't the first time his face held too many bruises, and it won't be the last. He just hopes Penn is asleep at the hotel room. Hopes he can slip inside quietly and spend the rest of the night sewing himself back together in the bathroom.

Because Penn doesn't know. About the bars and about the men. How Teller's love was so easy to persuade. And Teller wanted to keep it that way. He wouldn’t be able to handle the same disgust from his partner, he just couldn't. Penn would never hurt him like those guys do, but Teller supposed that would be even worse. The silence that could follow, the distance. Even if he went the other way and supported him, the acceptance would feel…undeserving.

He'd rather get buried with this secret then lose whatever the fuck was already going on between them.

So of course the motherfucker is still sitting up in his bed when Teller finally gets there. The lamp on the nightstand is the only thing on, flooding the beds in yellow light. Penn is dressed for sleep, in his loose tee shirt and gym shorts. Teller forgot that the bastard always read for a bit before crashing. The book is cracked open on his lap as he squints at it, trying to get used to the low lighting.

Teller froze for a second in the doorway. The blood on his face was still slowly dripping onto his shirt. Penn hadn’t looked up yet, but he knew he was here. "How'd the sex go?" He asked nonchalantly, flipping a page. "No overnight stay with the lucky lady?"

The smaller man quickly looked to the ground, trying to hide his face as best as he could. The bathroom was directly to his left, so if he went quick enough maybe Penn wouldn't think twice. The front door shuts behind him right as his hand twists the bathroom door open. "No, she wanted to sleep alone."

Before the other man could answer, Teller had already ducked into the bathroom and locked it. He let out a breath, feeling his nose throb within his fingers. If it was broken, Teller would have to go to a hospital. Maybe the crunching he heard earlier was only in his head.

Even thinking that made his eyes roll.

And so, he turned to the mirror. The bruises dotting his face didn't look as bad as they felt, except for maybe the one that had swollen his eye shut. But the deep teeth marks on his neck didn't purple over, they only bled. He'll give it to the guy- Teller has never had someone bite him so hard that the skin broke. Internally, he shrugged. He'll just throw some alcohol and a bandage on them, they'll be okay.

He looked back up, still pinching his nose, knowing he'll have to bring his hand down soon. Briefly, his eyes shut. Listened to his heartbeat. Wondered if the guy had got what he wanted or if he was only getting started. Then, he slowly released his fingers. He gave a little sniff, swallowing the blood down easy. Then his eyes reopened, and he started looking around for damage.

It wasn’t bleeding too bad anymore. And it looked relatively normal, if he was remembering correctly. Maybe the noise he heard within his skin earlier really was something else, though the thought didn't make him feel much better.

A sudden loud knock erupted beside him. Teller jolted hard, making his heart start pounding all the way into his ears. He cursed at the lack of control he had, trying to breathe deep. He choked down some more blood.

"You alright in there, buddy?" Penn asked, probably needing to use the restroom.

"Yeah, yeah- sorry, I'm, uh, cleaning up."

Penn makes an affirming noise. "I thought that might be so, considering there's blood on the doorknob."

Teller fell silent. Everything throbbed in the stillness.

"It's that bad, huh?" A couple more moments passed as Teller's world cracked slightly, all around the edges.

"Teller...let me help."

"You can help by pissing outside if you need to. I can do this myself." 

"I don't want you to do it by yourself."

"It's not a two person act happening in here, Penn- I'll be fine." Teller's words dipped at the end of the sentence, seeming to float right in front of him. He sniffed, guiltily relishing in the pain that followed. Penn didn't say anything else, but he didn't seem to walk away from the door either. 

Teller's eyes wandered away from his fucked up face to the doorknob. His gaze shuddered as he zeroed in on the lock. It made him forget briefly about how when he looked into the mirror, all he could see was the face of the man who did it to him. The revulsion was easy to remember, but there was something else he could almost see between all the swollen red.

And he finally realized, it was just himself he was seeing. The gore looked as normal as his curled hair.

All the air sunk to the floor. The doorknob remained still as his mind tried to work itself out.

Bruised fruit was a sign of rot. And rotting fruit is always thrown away. So why does he keep allowing himself to be beaten rotten? Hell, he couldn’t even recognize himself in the mirror anymore. Was it because he wanted these men to feel better about themselves? Did he just want to be completely eaten from the inside out so no one would ever think of keeping him around?

And suddenly a new thought crossed his mind. A balloon in his chest expanded so quickly that it hurt.

Maybe he didn't want to do it by himself, after all. These men he messed around with- he always gave them the benefit of the doubt. They were in the same boat, after all. If they felt that drowning Teller with their bare hands would make life even slightly easier, why not let them do it?

He stared at his face again. But what about him? Fuck, Teller can't even remember the last time he actually had sex without all the hate thrown in.

Then Penn spoke softly through the door. "I know we're not touchy feely with each other, business is business. But you're not okay, and dammit, I want to help." He paused for a second. "Plus, the first aid kit is out here, so you need to open the door for it anyway."

Teller's eye twitched. How the fuck did he manage to get a 30 year old juggler to care more about his well-being than himself?

It was 1985. He's known Penn for a little over 10 years. If it had only been 2 years, or 5, or even 8- he would've left the door shut. The mirror would scream at him for a couple of hours until he was done, and then he'd find a way to fall asleep. Penn probably wouldn't have even gotten up from his book in the first place.

The lock clicks when he turns it.

\---

It took an hour or so. The complimentary hand towels were stained a dark pink, but they held onto the deep red spots like they didn’t want to let go. Teller would watch the color drain down his hands as he wrung the fabric over and over again. But it was pointless. 

God, they weren’t gonna get their hotel security deposit back.

Penn didn't say much the entire time he helped. Teller barely looked at him. But from the corner of his vision, he could see the vague signs of Penn wincing or furrowing his brow. His mouth was always opening and closing, like he wanted to say something but felt it wasn't the right time.

It was strange to see him so conflicted. Even in his everyday confusion the man managed to be level-headed about it. Would tumble it around in his head so delicately that it became less about the confusion and more about solving the problem.

But this time it wasn't like that. Teller guessed it was harder to think a problem over when it was actively bleeding right in front of you. And because of that dilemma, Penn took a different route. A route he has almost prided himself on rarely taking. Especially with his "glorified coworker".

He had attempted to comfort him. Not with his words, but with his touch. Teller tried not to think about how careful Penn's hands had been, pressing alcohol and neosporin into his wounds. How his other hand would rest at the back of his neck, just barely touching Teller's curls. They were calculated and small, like Penn was already thinking about the next day and how he could excuse the gentleness.

Teller felt his blood turn to ice in the beginning. But after the umpteenth swipe of a thumb over a recently placed bandage, he was ashamed to realize the ice had melted.

After pulling himself together with the quiet help of his partner, Teller emerged from the restroom, covered in band-aids and smelling of rubbing alcohol. The AC hummed on in the corner, and the old yellow light buzzed faintly. He took a deep breath and felt his ribcage sting in response.

He didn't mind it. Felt lucky that he was only going to sleep painfully tonight and not be in a hospital bed. Or a casket.

Teller hobbled across the room towards his bed, clenching his teeth at how his legs were cramping in all the wrong places. He tried to remember how long he'd been standing, but something told him that was probably not the reason they ached.

Penn followed suit, tossing the first aid kit between his hands almost nervously. The smaller man didn't pay much attention to it, as he was mostly focusing on not limping in front of his partner.

Once Teller reached the side of his bed, he gently laid down. Some of his bruises screamed at the pressure, but everything else just sighed. His body seemed to sink down into the soft bed, and his eyes were finally able to roll shut.

He could sleep in his bloody clothes tonight. The metallic smell wasn't too hard to ignore.

Some rustling was heard as Penn finally put the kit away, his socks dragging against the carpet all the way to his bed. Teller could feel his apprehension, like he was still debating on whether or not it was the right time to ask questions. Teller's eyes were still shut, but he could now hear his partner shuffling with the covers, never really settling down.

Then, a small silence happened. And Teller then mentally braced himself for the words about to come this way.

"What the fuck happened, man?"

"Mugged. After I left the girl's place." Teller easily lied.

His partner sounded even more confused. "Why would a mugger bite your neck? Cause I'm pretty sure you’re not into that super ass kinky shit, so it couldn't have been the girl."

Teller's skin crawled. He could almost feel the incisors gnawing at him again. "I wouldn't know, ask the mugger."

Penn lapsed back into the ambience of the room. He blended in well with the rattling AC. 

Then, something different. "What was her name?"

"Wendy." Teller resisted the urge to furrow his brow. He almost felt sick, lying to Penn, like he was the audience and Teller was about to pull a trick on him.

"Hmmm," Penn hummed, "That's the second Wendy this month."

Teller finally opened his good eye, blinking into the light. Penn sat against his headboard, staring straight ahead. He was back to trying to figure out the problem, now that the problem wasn't an open wound. Teller's eye twitched slightly.

"It's a beautiful name." He responded.

"Oh, no doubt, I just feel like you would've mentioned the whole double name thing. You have before- the three separate Quinn's from Minnesota, remember? One was a performer, and the other two were food vendors, something like that, I think." Penn then moved his gaze over to Teller. "You're observational like that."

"Alright, sorry for not obsessively telling you that this was the second Wendy in a month." Teller could start to feel a slight annoyance start to form, right underneath his growing fear. "What is this really about, Penn?"

"...you're lying to me. Which is stupid considering I lie WITH you for a living."

Everything was cold again. The locked handle wouldn't stop shaking. He clenched his jaw. "What happened then, Penn? Since you seem to know so much about a man that you can't even call a friend."

"Friends don't lie to each other."

"And friends don't push the other to talk about something they clearly can't talk about right now." Teller's words caught in his throat, sounding shaky when they fell out. He closed his eye around the culminating tears and took a deep sigh.

"...I'm not going to tell you the full story. At least right now." He opened his now clear eye. "It's nothing personal, Penn."

Penn had backed off now, probably pulsating with guilt. He stared down at the sheets, rubbing a thumb over his red nail. "I've known you most of my life. I guess it would naturally feel personal."

Teller smiled slightly, half into his pillow. A warm ache overtook the pains. "You're too smart to be concerned about me. You'll know I'll be okay."

Penn scoffed, his lips turning upwards just slightly. "I don't know shit, man. You could've just come back from murdering someone and I'd be none the wiser."

"Oh no, I'd definitely let you know about that- I can't bury a body by myself."

"And you think a big ol' juggler turned magician is gonna be able to fucking help with that?" Penn chuckled towards the end of the sentence, eyes twinkling as they looked towards Teller.

The bruised man only hummed, letting his eye close again. His eyelids both burned red from the lamp that was still on. "Probably not." His head turned more into the pillow, flirting with the cusp of sleep. "I just know I'd trust you."

It was 1985, and Penn watched as his partner succumbed to the weariness of the day- falling asleep like nothing had ever happened. The rise of Teller's chest was rhythmic like it was every night, but Penn couldn't help but wonder if they ached at the push and pull. Was there a sting of thorns through the parts of his body that Penn didn't see? Past his neck. Over his ribs. Down his legs.

His heart has been falling ever since his first glance at Teller's injuries; when he was finally let through the door. God, the nose, the face, the neck- everything Penn could see was raw.

Penn blinked, holding his hands up to check for blood under his fingernails again. And for the third time, there was none. A sigh fell from his lips.

Teller could say he wasn't completely lying all he wanted, but Penn knew better. The mugger, and maybe even the girl, was just a distraction. Those bites and bruises were too deep. He just couldn't figure out what Teller was trying to lead his eye away from. His partner's faint mistrust was sitting directly in his gut, large and uncomfortable.

But why was the fact that Teller wasn't giving him the full story bothering him so much? Maybe he just thought he had a right to know, being that they spent 90 percent of their time with each other. 

Penn looked over to the sleeping man across from him. He sighed again.

It was 1985. Penn kept the light on for a few moments more. Took a long, greedy look at Teller. His horribly pretty face, even after everything it's been through. The curve of his body underneath the blanket. He felt an all to familiar rush of warmth coat his insides.

And then he reached over the nightstand, and watched his partner closely as the room went dark.


	2. Cracked Open

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this so far <3  
> I really appreciate it and hope it's going well!! Especially since my writing can be weird to read through.  
> I have to let y'all know something though: the next chapter (and possibly a fourth one?) will probably take longer to write. Motivation is a Bitch.  
> But either way, thank you again!! <3

The nights following the attack, Teller dreams of a black void. It is not the same one that envelopes him and sweeps his memory away, like it did before. Instead, it is a solid block of time that doesn't move. He stares into the nothingness and he knows that it doesn't stare back. For the entire night, he is actively and achingly alone; trapped inside his mind in an alarmingly conscious way. Teller can't feel the seconds pass, but he wishes he could. Then he would have something to grasp onto that wasn't his own self. 

When he wakes up, he immediately spots the stretches of shadows that the morning light hasn't touched yet. He stays in bed until the entire room is gold. Counts every second.

During his count on one particular morning, Teller notices something keeps breaking through his numbers. Bits of words from a voice he doesn't recognize. He peers over across the room almost on autopilot. There he spots a moving image- he had fallen asleep to his TV last night. The speakers whisper as a tight lipped man drones from the screen. Teller doesn't need to tune in to know what he's talking about. The disgust is caught between the man's teeth, never running down his chin, but always brushing against his words. A pool of ice seeped into his stomach, but it had become so common that he barely noticed it.

It was 1985. People like him were dying under street lamps and in empty hospital rooms. People who worked with them, their stage hands, would often speak about it all. How the numbers were higher and the people were sicker.

It felt like being talked about behind your back. Directly to your face.

Then suddenly, his eyebrows pulled together. The voice from the TV faded slightly. There was something else making noise. In the dim light of the morning, his brain was still booting up; trying to shake itself from the upsetting, endless news of the TV and from that damn "dream" he kept having. It only took him a couple more seconds before he realizes the noise is the phone ringing.

"Fuck." He sighs into his pillow. As quickly as he can, he then throws his blankets back and hoists himself up onto his legs. A deep fire within his hips flares up, making him falter as he moves towards the door. He clenches his jaw from the pain, feeling it move into his face, where the actual injuries were. Teller didn't understand why his body was rallying against him like this, especially since most of it wasn't even harmed that night.

An endless ache had settled into his nerves- all because he got pushed around by a fucking closet case.

But Teller was a closet case as well- a nearly 40 year old one at that.

He chuckled bitterly.

By then he had entered the hallway and was wandering towards the now silent phone at the other end of it. It had stopped ringing when he exited his door, but it was only for a few seconds before starting up again. Teller felt a prick of anxiety in his stomach, automatically shuffling through a list in his head of dates and times. He was sure nothing was going on today- Penn had specifically taken four days off to visit his parents in Massachusetts. It had only been two of those days.

The phone waited patiently on the wall, beeping happily. Teller took a small breath before complying and removing the phone from the hook. The plastic was cold against his ear. His nose was throbbing harder than usual, alongside his heartbeat.

"Hello?"

"Hey bud, how're you doing?" An enthusiastic sounding Penn responded.

"Penn? What- shit, I'm sorry if I missed your calls-"

"Nah, don't even worry about it, I just wanted to call and check up on you is all."

Teller went mushy all over, and he internally cursed at Penn for being the one to cause it. "Oh...well, I'm doing quite alright." He kneaded the muscles in his hip absentmindedly. "How's the family?"

"Still in one piece."

The line went silent. Teller raised an eyebrow. "That's good. Tell them I say hi."

"Of course, of course." Penn said. "But, uh, I have something else to ask of you, actually."

"Oh? What is it?"

"Well, I'm debating coming back a day early- it's too fucking cold down here, man. Younger me is rolling in his huge ass coffin, seeing the heat heathen I have become."

"Okay," Teller huffed out a laugh, "What does this have to do with me? You want to strike off that last day and get back to work?" They probably couldn't do any performances, as Teller's face was still pretty busted, but they could brainstorm some new ideas and fix old ones. That was almost as gratifying as doing the actual trick.

"Normally, yes. But…" Penn's voice got lower, like he was telling a secret. "I think we should hang out. Do something not work related."

Teller felt his heart stand still for a second. "We only 'hang out' like, three times a year, Penn- why now?"

"Why not now? We have a day off, might as well."

Something was nagging at him violently, making his hand find its way to the phone cord and start twisting it around his fingers. He must've been quiet for a second too long because Penn quickly started talking again.

"Only if you want to, Teller. You know, I was eating dinner with everyone last night- a really beautiful spread of grilled steaks. There were these fresh ears of corn that had just been harvested the day before- biscuits made from scratch. Plus a bunch of other nice things; my family doesn't fuck around when it comes to dinner, obviously."

Teller nodded, as if Penn was right in front of him. God, sometimes the man could be across an entire stage from him and it'd still feel like they were shoulder to shoulder. Teller could listen to him for hours.

"But, you know," Penn continued, "Throughout it my stupid brain kept thinking 'Huh, I wonder if Teller would enjoy this food?' 'Huh, I wonder if he'd like to do something like this?' And that's what has been on my frozen mind. That and the delicious spaghetti you know how to make, which would be nice to enjoy again." He hinted, very openly.

"Wait- your idea of us hanging out is me cooking for you?"

"Well, it sounds pretty fucking awesome to me."

It was 1985. A deep rose blush was settling into Teller's face. He thanked a god he didn't believe in that Penn was hundreds of miles away. And some rusty, beaten part of his heart wondered if Penn's face was a similar shade of red as well. Maybe his hands were clammy while he pushed the phone hard against his ear, trying to be as close to Teller's voice as possible.

Maybe when they were together, he would stare at him when he wasn't looking and think similar things.

But a sick pulsing quickly found its way back to his chest. It hurt with every beat, like he was being poked with needles. He reached up and gently pressed against the bites on his neck. The pain didn't register like it used to. 

Teller always fell in love with beautiful things. It did not matter if they were people or objects; they all held special places in his life. But he knew very well that he wasn't one of them. To himself, and to others. He could barely even keep a good man for one night. And if he managed to, they would only sleep with him when the lights were off. Push his face into the blankets for good measure. There were no dates, no hand holding, and no love.

Penn hardly considered him a friend.

"Hey, you okay, man? What's going on?"

It was 1985, and nothing was going on. It would hurt long before the year ends and long after that.

"Yeah, had a rough sleep is all."

The gears in his heart finally stop.

Teller speaks again with tight lips. "I'll buy the noodles later today."

\---

Penn was an all or nothing kinda guy. His cliffs were high and his trenches deep. The rivers of his satisfaction would always overflow and drown out the fauna. He guessed that instead of being addicted to killer things like drugs or alcohol, he would instead gorge himself on everything else. Music, juggling, reading, sex, food- his whole world was as high as he could take it.

So why would his love be any different? Especially when it was the best thing to sink into. It didn't even have to be romantic; Penn had and will continue to hold his friends close to his chest. To bask in their loud laughs and fall with their tears.

But Teller was different. So fucking different. Penn had virtually nothing in common with the smaller man, except for magic, something Penn had grown to hate before he met Teller. Apparently, back then, seeing a silent freak pull needles out of his throat was all the convincing he needed to love it again.

Sometimes, when Penn was tired or too close to the clouds, he would question if it was the needles that made magic make sense again or if he had just fallen in love with Teller.

He would think, 'The needles, of course'. But as the years went on, he wasn't too sure anymore.

It was just that Teller was unlike anyone Penn had ever met. If he was similar to even one other person, Penn probably wouldn't be in front of his door with his heart going a million miles an hour. There were some store bought cookies in his bag, which he had willingly went out and bought after his flight. Red velvet with white chocolate chips- Teller liked it when the extra food dye would stain his fingers.

Penn pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes. God, what was he doing? It hadn't even been cold back in Massachusetts- he just needed an excuse to come back. The "vacation" had been him trying to buy his partner some time to heal. Teller would've overworked himself by going as close to the cliff's edge as he possibly could, the gutsy motherfucker. 

Penn had missed him. Bastard.

With a deep breath, he then reached out and knocked on the door. From beyond the wood, he could hear the steps making their way closer to the door. Teller answered a little later, looking better than the last time Penn saw him. He was wrapped up in a cozy sweater and jeans. Something inside Penn's stupid mind made him wish he was the one making Teller warm and not that damn sweater.

A polite smile appeared on his partner's mouth. Penn quickly broke away from his surveying of Teller's body up to his face. Everything was now black and purple. And the bruise around his eye had deflated a bit, letting the blue of his iris shine through. But now that his eye could be seen more clearly, Penn immediately spotted something he hadn't before. The blood vessels had broken in his eye and turned the white all crimson.

Red. He remembered the red he had to clean off the hotel door knobs. And how Teller's nose had started bleeding again in the night, turning the pillow burgundy and seeping into its insides. 

Basically, he faltered at the doorstep.

Teller's smile dropped into something more understanding. "Got something on my face?"

Penn blinked away his thoughts, feeling his face flush slightly. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"That in itself is an answer." He then stepped aside and opened the door wider. "Good to see you, Penn."

"You sure you can even see out of that eye?" The taller man walked in, immediately getting hit by the smell of dinner. His face remained pink. "It looks wicked painful."

"Clear as day, if those damn clouds outside would part." Teller replied as he shut the door firmly.

Penn hummed absently as he walked into the living room, eyes wandering. Taking in all the paintings, bookcases, and other strange knick knacks- he felt like he was in the middle of some sophisticated fever dream.

"Nothing is for sale." Teller teased, stopping beside him.

"I don't think 'retired Latin teacher' is quite my aesthetic, thank you."

"Hmm, 'retired'. That's good. Especially since I actually quit- retiring would've been the...more honorable thing, I suppose."

"Yeah, but it definitely wouldn't have been as fun."

Teller grinned, almost shyly. "Absolutely."

Penn felt dizzy, like he always did when the other man smiled directly at him.

After the exchange Teller then seemed to remember that he was still in the middle of cooking dinner. He stepped away from Penn, briefly brushing past him on his way to the kitchen. But the taller man quickly noticed how Teller flinched back when he realized the slight contact. Penn raised an eyebrow in his direction, which went unnoticed as Teller had already moved past him, into the kitchen. Almost as if he had subconsciously jerked away, not even noticing it. Like it was an instinct. 

He'd seen Teller do it before, in the same way. It was only with other men. Never women. And definitely never Penn.

Penn wondered, in between heartbeats, if the bite marks were healing well.

"What's in the bag?" Teller called from the kitchen, interrupting his thoughts. The plastic bag swung slightly as Penn wandered over to the archway of the kitchen. He leaned on it and tilted his head at the image of Teller planted in front of the oven; multiple pans on the burners. Some bread rolls were already done, glistening in the middle of the table.

"Cookies. For you. And me, obviously, but they're the disgusting red velvet ones you like so much."

Teller's movements stuttered over the oven, peering over his shoulder for only a second. He appeared momentarily struck, but it was over soon after it started, and he quickly turned back to his work. "Oh! That's very kind of you, thank you." Teller said. But Penn could still see him grinning down at the stove, trying to hide it.

A pang of pride echoed through Penn's chest. "Yes, yes- I'm the nicest motherfucker on the planet."

Teller's smile dropped as he playfully rolled his eyes. "I don't even think you're the nicest person in this building." He then gestured towards the table. "Sit down, you egomaniac."

\---

After Teller finished cooking, and they were well into their meal, two hours had passed. When Penn would bite into one of the rolls, it filled his mouth with fluff and warmth. The rest of his body felt similar; talking with Teller was always a gift. Even when they were upset or annoyed at each other, Penn always knew there would be an end to it, sooner than later.

But it was 1985. And there was a question that had been crawling around Penn's head for a few years now. More of a feeling, really. And maybe he's always thought it- but Teller's attack had made it grow bigger in the front of his mind. It stuck around and begged for him to just ask it.

Those bites...he couldn’t make sense of it. If Teller didn't have those, Penn would've believed his story. But he just couldn't. They felt like a small crack in a much larger picture. 

Two days ago while he was in Massachusetts, the little things he had subconsciously collected over the years started to come back. About how Teller had always been peculiar. But a certain facet of it- it had nervously grown more and more the longer Penn thought about it.

Like when Teller would glance just a few seconds longer at certain men. And his sudden, cold attitude when those same men would laugh too hard at one of his jokes.

The gentle way he would clean Penn's glasses.

Yes, that question wasn't leaving anytime soon. Penn glanced from his meal to a clock hung on the wall. And it seemed they had plenty of time to talk some more.

When Penn looked back towards Teller, the man's face had a soft glow and his body was loose. You could barely notice the red eye and dark spots.

So, fuck it. If it went bad...Penn held onto the idea that it would be like the other times they argued- nothing too serious.

But he definitely couldn't just drop it directly on the table, like a dead body. He would build up to it, and hope the drop wasn't too high.

He nervously shoved another bite into his mouth, and started the climb.

"You are looking better, though, thank god." Penn gestured up and down Teller's body with his fork. "How's the pain?"

Yesterday, Teller's hips had felt better, but his chest couldn't seem to hold enough air in them. Like something was pushing against his ribs. And today, his hands felt so sore he was having a hard time gripping the utensils. It was one thing after the other, always followed by that indefinite and static dream.

He shrugged. "Can't complain."

"You sure?"

Teller was about to assure him he was okay yet again, but suddenly his lips wouldn't open. The muscles in his hands twitched involuntarily.

"Teller?" Penn was looking at him. Concerned and open.

Always so open.

"Actually," He finally conceded, "I've been better."

The other man nodded knowingly. "I'd fuckin' assume so."

"I'll be fine, though." Teller sent him a reassessing smile. "Ibuprofen does wonders."

"You know, I heard going to a doctor can have similar effects."

"Nothing’s broken or torn or infected." God, it sure did feel like it, though. "So why would I need to go to a doctor, Penn?" He asked pointedly.

He shrugged innocently. "Not everything is skin deep, you know?" The taller man raised his hand and tapped his temple. "There's a whole 'nother playing field up here."

"I'm not troubled by what happened, if that's what you mean."

"That's exactly what I mean."

Teller fixed an exasperated gaze on Penn. "Enough cat and mouse- get to the point, Penn."

Penn took a small breath. "You flinched earlier- away from me."

"Oh. Is that it?"

"And I've seen you do it with other people, before the mugging."

Teller could see what he was doing. And he was sure Penn knew that he was onto him. He tilted his head slightly. "If you think I'm lying about something, you really should just lead with that. These mental acrobatics- it's a bit much, even for us." Teller smiled a bit at the end, seeing Penn's face freeze.

"I've tried to lead with it before- didn't do much."

"That's fair." Teller suddenly felt a sharp guilt grab him. Had he really flinched away from Penn? He racked his brain trying to find it and couldn't. But the more troubling aspect was that Penn noticed all the other times he had winced away from people. He gripped his fork, feeling his muscles pulse with pain.

Teller responded stiffly. "I'm sorry, Penn. I didn't do it intentionally."

Penn leaned forward slightly. "Hey, I don't care that you did it, man, I just wanna make sure you're good. Yah know, the other times you did it, I always had a thought that something was going on behind the scenes. Wondering what was making you jumpy in one place and rock solid in another." He tapped his fork a bit on the plate. "...especially since it didn't happen with just anyone."

Teller simply looked back down at his plate.

Penn then threw himself from the ledge and pushed the words out as gracefully as he could.

"You like guys, don't you?"

The question, which was more of a statement, took a second to hit Teller. One moment he was twisting his fork through some noodles, and the next his mind was replaced with an electric panic. His fork kept turning as his own mind did the same thing.

Finally, after a numb minute of thinking, he came up with something. "…I…like magic. Just magic."

"Could've just said 'no'."

Teller saw how soft Penn's eyes looked. Like he knew about it all. He wouldn't turn away. The coin had flipped- to the face that was shiny. Penn was going to accept Teller for who he was, and the mere thought of it was making him sick.

He couldn’t run from it. The soles of his feet were filled with rocks.

Teller succumbed to pushing the food around his plate. His partner's gaze barely moved, all grey and piercing. They hadn't genuinely had a talk about that night since, well, that night. Only brief mentions. But everytime Penn looked at him, he had the creeping suspension that Penn could still see the blood. Maybe he could also spot the other men against his skin- the ones who were kind, but still always made sure to not make eye contact with Teller. 

He dropped his fork onto his plate. It made a beautiful ringing noise that only stopped when Teller touched a fingertip to the porcelain. Penn straightened his head and waited.

Teller was decided. He would crack his heart open and examine the rot that he'd been living with his entire life. And he would only do it for the man across from him.

He replied shakily, staring down. "…'no' wouldn’t be the full story."

Penn quietly took that in and tried to ignore the excited jump in his chest. "What is the full story then?"

"Which one?" Teller looked up, head tilted slightly. Waiting for something to make his words stop coming out. "The one where I've never been whole or the one from last week?"

A painful chill worked itself through Penn in that moment. His chest ached for the man across from him, his partner. "Whichever one you want?" He treaded.

Teller's face was blank. "I wasn't mugged, but you already knew that. There was no Wendy- or Laura, or Anne, or anyone else I told you about." He broke eye contact then, staring off to the side.

"They had, let's say, rougher chins?" Penn suggested. If there was one thing he was good at, it was being able to read Teller. And it was incredibly clear that the usually forward man was having trouble speaking frankly.

Teller nodded slightly after a few seconds. "Yeah, let's say that."

"What else?"

"Well, obviously it didn't go as expected that night. The...man I was with," Teller's words felt foreign in his mouth, "Probably hasn't had a great life. I try not to think of the real reason he sought after me. Maybe he genuinely wanted a connection- and maybe he just wanted to beat on someone else. Force them to feel the things he was going through on the inside."

Teller sighed, noticing a headache starting to form behind his forehead. "Long story short, we were going to have sex. But during the making out, he lost his temper for some reason. And thus," He gestured to his face and neck region, "This happened. And yes- it's happened more than once with different men. I guess after a while, it made me develop that damn flinch. That damn...fear."

Silence followed the story. And Penn finally had his answer. A cruel, hateful answer that had been gnawing at his partner's insides for 37 long years. The same answer that bled all over the hotel room that night and made dinner for the both of them.

...an answer he selfishly wished he had known about a lot sooner.

"...when were you going to tell me?" Penn spoke into the room. "I get not wanting to be out publicly, especially now- everything is wicked fucking crazy. But...I wouldn't have- won't- tell a soul." 

Teller responded immediately. "Everyday. Everyday I wanted to tell you, deep down. And I knew that if I told you, I'd finally feel sort of okay."

Penn furrowed his brow. "If you knew it would be okay, then why didn't you just come out and say it?"

"…because I thought I didn't deserve to feel okay."

Penn could almost hear his own heart snap. "Oh, Teller…"

"Penn, I-" He stopped, clearing his throat of the emotion that threatened to push through. "I have never been in a real relationship. These men from clubs and events- they never stick around. My relationship is with magic- it's the only thing that I understand sometimes. And I don't want this whole thing to change that- what we do together. Do you get what I'm saying?"

It was 1985. Smack dab in the middle of a year that was taking and giving like it didn't know any better. He never could've guessed that a time like this would behave so humanly- and yet here sat the one person he trusts the most. Invisible, yet oh so clear. Watching from the outside. Penn understood him completely.

But like the way a dog continues to beg after being fed, Penn will always want more. And he didn't even know what else he was hungry for.

'But', he thought, 'maybe later. Maybe another time.' He roamed his eyes over Teller once more.

"...it'll be the same ol' Penn and Teller. I promise."


End file.
